


Aftershock

by TriaKane



Category: Leverage
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Rape Recovery, he gets by with a little help from his friends, possible trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 04:36:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20633183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriaKane/pseuds/TriaKane
Summary: The initial earthquake of Damien Moreau is over. This is how Eliot needs to recover.





	Aftershock

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a sequel to [The Desecration of Eliot Spencer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12388095).
> 
> This story has not been betaed. If you want to offer, I'd gladly accept.

Thirty-six hours after returning to Portland with his team, Eliot knew he had to get out. Knowing they would worry if he left without a word, Eliot did a bit of reconnaissance to determine their locations before paying them each a visit.

He started with Parker.

When they’d settled in Portland, Parker had bought an old warehouse on the east side of the Williamette River. Most nights she slept at the brewpub in one of the rooms upstairs; sometimes she stayed with Hardison, and sometimes not. Still needed her own space though, she’d bought the warehouse.

Eliot had helped her set up surveillance cameras around the perimeter, but other than that one time, he’d never stopped by. Now, standing directly in front of a camera, he waited.

He heard her approach, knew she was aware that after his experience, he might not be too keen on being snuck up on.

“Leaving?” she asked as she let him in.

Stepping inside the dimly lit warehouse, Eliot saw she was wearing an intricate harness. He knew sometimes she liked to ‘hang’, especially when she had a lot on her mind.

He nodded without comment.

“Want some cereal?” she asked as she turned and headed towards her living space.

By way of an answer, he pulled the door shut and followed. Eliot watched her hop up onto a stainless-steel table and lean over to retrieve a box of cereal. Sitting cross-legged, she popped open the box and grabbed a handful.

Normally, processed cereal was the last thing Eliot would ever willingly eat, but this was Parker; he did a lot of things for Parker that he wouldn’t do for anyone else.

Spotting a shelf with several bowls, Eliot grabbed one and slid it towards her. She shook some into the bowl and gestured to a small dorm sized fridge. After adding milk, he found a spoon and leaned up against the table, taking a bite.

“Coming back?” she asked, her eyes focused on a handful of cereal.

“Course,” he said as confidently as he could. He took another bite of the sugary cereal, and then set the bowl beside him, his eyes on her.

She studied him openly, judging his words and actions. Satisfied, she set the cereal box aside, slid off the table and walked to an over-stuffed easy chair.

Eliot watched her pick up Bunny and come back.

“Bring her back,” she said, handing the beloved stuffed animal to him.

He took Bunny reverently, his eyes on Parker’s the whole time. He knew it was her way of ensuring he would return.

“I will,” he said. And he meant it, even if only to bring Bunny back.

***

“No! Naw! Uh uh! No, Eliot!” Hardison railed when he saw Eliot slip into the office.

“Haven’t even said anything yet,” Eliot growled in response.

“You’re leaving!” Hardison said accusatorily.

“I’m coming back!” 

Hardison appeared to weigh Eliot’s words.

“You promise?” Hardison asked cautiously, as if he were afraid of the answer.

Eliot didn’t respond automatically, instead he weighed his words and what making a promise to the younger man meant.

“I give you my word,” Eliot said solemnly, holding out his hand. As with Parker, Eliot would come back, one way or the other, even just to keep his word before disappearing for good.

Hardison stood and came around the desk, taking Eliot’s hand.

“You gonna be okay?” Hardison asked.

Eliot nodded.

“Gummy frog?” Hardison held out a jar.

Resisting the urge to decline, Eliot instead reached out and took a few, tossing them in his mouth.

“Oh, hey,” Hardison said, grabbing a small box. “Take an ear bud.”

“I don’t—”

“Just take it, man,” Hardison said, thrusting the box into Eliot’s hand. “You don’t have to turn it on, just take it.”

“Okay,” Eliot agreed, pocketing the small box.

“Alright, now give me a hug,” Hardison said, opening his arms and pulling Eliot in.

“Dammit Hardison!” Eliot said gruffly, but he let himself be pulled into a hug.

Hardison didn’t imagine the fierceness of Eliot’s embrace.

***

If Sophie was surprised to see him when she opened her apartment door, she hid it well.

“You’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question.

He briefly wondered if he’d lost his ability to hide his thoughts.

“Yeah,” he answered. “Just for a while.” He hoped she wouldn’t press.

“Do you want to come in?” she asked. “I’m making tea.”

He followed her in and sat at the kitchen counter to watch. She worked methodically, years of practice obvious in every move.

The water was already boiling so she took the tea pot, poured the boiling water in and let it sit to warm the pot for about a minute. After dumping the hot water out, she picked up a mesh tea ball filled with aromatic loose tea leaves and dropped it into the empty tea pot. She added the boiling water and placed the lid on the pot to let the tea steep.

In the handful of minutes, the tea brewed, she set two cups and saucers on the counter, set slices of lemon in a bowl, then poured milk into a creamer and set the sugar bowl beside it. When the tea was ready, she took a seat beside him at the counter.

“How are you doing?” she asked as she poured.

He thought about his answer as she added milk and sugar to his cup.

“Okay,” Eliot said as he picked up the cup and stared into the steaming depths. “Just need some... space.” Their eyes met over the rim of the cup.

“And physically?” she probed.

If anyone else had asked, Eliot would have bristled at the intrusion, but for some indefinable reason, there were few barriers with Sophie.

“I’ll heal.”

He took a sip of the tea and was pleasantly surprised how well the milk and sugar combination accentuated the flavored tea.

“Good tea,” he commented.

“Oh,” she said, smiling. “It’s new. Take it.”

Before he could decline, she shoved a bag of loose tea and a mesh strainer into a small bag.

“Have you told Nate yet?” she asked softly.

“Not yet,” he admitted.

“I think he’s at the boat,” she offered.

Eliot nodded his head and took another sip of tea. He waited for her to ask him if he was coming back, but as the silence continued, he realized she already knew what his answer would be.

***

Climbing out of the truck, Eliot spotted Nate sitting on the deck of his boat, as if waiting for him. Eliot wondered if Sophie had alerted him as he made his way down the dock.

“Leaving?” Nate asked, raising his sunglasses to sit on top of his head.

“Yeah,” Eliot answered, wishing he was wearing sunglasses.

“Wondered how long it would take.”

Eliot shrugged.

“Did you tell them?”

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“Coming back?”

Eliot bristled at the question but tried not to show it. Of course he was coming back... they were his... for fuck’s sake, they were his family, of course he was coming back. They’d come for him, he would come back for them. Because of them. He knew they asked because they cared about him.

Nate watched the emotions flicker across Eliot’s face; he hoped Eliot never realized the he could read the hitter like a book.

“Yes,” Eliot answered simply.

Nate looked out over the water. “How long?”

“Week or two.”

“Hardison give you an ear bud?”

“Yeah.”

Nate stood then and handed Eliot an unopened bottle of Irish whiskey.

“What about you?” Eliot asked.

“Thought maybe I’d stop drinking for a while.” Nate shrugged.

“Penance?” he asked, cocking his head.

“Something like that,” Nate said wryly.

It was Eliot’s turn to look out over the water.

“Knew I’d eventually have to pay for leaving Moreau.”

“And I put you back on his radar.”

“Maybe,” Eliot said with a shrug. “But maybe I never left it.”

They stared at each other for a long minute before Nate nodded and held up a hand.

Eliot turned and walked away, knowing the whole time that Nate watched him go.

***

Eliot followed the paved road for 17.3 miles from the outskirts of Fly Gap, Washington, turned right on county road 627 and followed the dirt road for another 11.6 miles. Marked only by a decrepit wooden fence, he saw a nearly hidden driveway on the left.

Getting out of his truck, Eliot wasn’t surprised to see that the rickety gate was in fact strategically covering a solid metal frame. He reached for the thick chain and tilted the combination padlock towards him, rolling the dials until he heard the lock release.

He returned to his truck, drove in and then closed the gate behind him. Before getting back in the truck Eliot stood and listened but heard nothing except the sounds of nature around him. Perfect.

Eliot took the dirt road slowly, taking care to watch for fallen branches and ruts. He knew the cabin was just under 2 miles through the woods. When he finally saw it, he smiled and let out a deep breath, feeling some of his tension drain away.

Climbing out of the truck, Eliot took a moment to stretch as he looked around, studying the borrowed cabin. _Isn’t much,_ Jim, an old army buddy, told him. _Four walls and a roof in the middle of the Cascades. Totally off the grid._

Leaving everything in the truck, Eliot started the process of opening the cabin. The front porch was narrow, a shuttered window on each side of the front door. The heavy wooden door was secured with a cipher lock that shared its code with the front gate.

Opening the door, Eliot let the light spill in. Stepping in, he saw the single key hanging by the door and grabbed it. Using the key, he unlocked the shutters and latched them back.

The inside of the cabin was one big room. The right side had been set up as a makeshift kitchen and dining area. A small table with two chairs sat beside a tall cabinet with a Formica counter. A sink was inset in the middle of the counter and an antique ice box sat near the end. 

The left side of the cabin accommodated a living area where a rocking chair and couch sat, both covered with sheets, were grouped around a wood stove. A double bed and nightstand sat in the back corner.

Eliot unlocked the bar that held the back door closed and pushed it open. The back porch was covered and at least 8-feet wide with two metal chairs sitting near the railing, but it was the view that took his breath away. The porch overlooked a large canyon, and in the distance, he spotted a body of water.

There were two more shuttered windows on the back porch, and Eliot opened them quickly. He took another look around at the view and sighed contentedly.

Remembering the other things Jim told him, Eliot went back outside to the windmill. Releasing the brake, Eliot looked up and watched as the tail straightened and the wheel spun towards the wind. It picked up the breeze and he heard it creak and whine as it spun.

He tapped the water storage tank and was pleased to hear there was a good amount of water inside. Beside the house was a stack of chopped wood and a stump; he remembered seeing an ax hanging beside the back door.

Back in the house, he turned on the water to the sink and closed the spigot when water started flowing. Looking around, Eliot realized what was missing: a bathroom.

_Jim said it was rustic._ Eliot laughed to himself. That explained the shovel and roll of toilet paper.

Opening the four windows, Eliot carefully took the dust covers off the furniture and took them outside to shake out. He found a dust cloth and ran it across the flat surfaces before grabbing a broom and sweeping the floors. 

Once he was satisfied, he started carrying in his supplies.

He carried in his sleeping bag and duffle first, spreading out the sleeping bag on the double sized bed. He removed a pillow and a flat sheet from his duffle, shaking the sheet out over the sleeping bag. He set a towel and his Dopp kit on the bedside table and shoved the duffle under the bed.

Next he carried in two Yeti ice chests; one was filled with cold groceries and the other was filled with bottled water and beer. He decided to forgo using the antique ice box and left everything in the Yetis.

Carrying in a couple more bags of groceries, Eliot removed everything from the paper bags and organized it on the counter. There were several mismatched dishes and pots on a shelf above the counter and he quickly washed off the dust and let them dry on a dishtowel he found in a drawer.

He brought in his camp stove and propane bottles, setting them on the counter alongside a good skillet he’d brought.

Taking two kerosene lanterns off the table, he carried them to the back of his truck and filled them from a five-gallon can. Bringing them back inside, he set one on the table and one on a small table beside the couch.

Checking the wood stove, Eliot saw that Jim had a fire already laid out, so he brought in an armload of wood and dumped it into the box beside the door.

Returning to his truck, he retrieved one last bag.

He set Bunny on one of the kitchen chairs, put the box with the ear bud, the tea package, and the bottle of Irish whiskey on the table beside the kerosene lamp. Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, he noticed he had no signal, but he turned the phone off anyway.

Looking around, Eliot contemplated his mental checklist. He’d cleaned, gotten settled... so now what? He knew the cleaning and organizing was a classic avoidance technique but at the moment, he didn’t really care.

After looking around the tidy cabin once more, Eliot grabbed a beer and went out onto the back porch, settled himself in a chair and watched the afternoon pass.

***

“Fuck! No! Why! No! Oh god! Bastard! Damnit, stop!”

The echo of Eliot’s yells reverberated against the wooden cabin walls as he woke from the nightmare. Jumping from the bed, his crashed into the wall, holding out his hands in defense as he tried to remember where he was. 

_Cabin. Alone. Safe._ The mantra set itself to auto-repeat in his head.

After regaining control of his breathing, Eliot cautiously stepped towards the back door and pulled it open. Moonlight flooded the small cabin and Eliot waited a few seconds for his eyes to adjust, and then stepped onto the porch, taking deep, calming breaths. 

He didn’t have to be a psychologist to understand what the nightmare had been about. He was a man who liked to be in control of himself and his environment, and his time with Moreau and his men had taken away his sense of security.

Even though he guessed he’d only slept a couple of hours, he decided they’d have to be enough, and went back inside the cabin. He slid on his jeans, and then lit the kerosene lantern beside the bed. Sliding his duffle from under the bag, he retrieved a dog-eared paperback and carried them both to the back porch. 

Returning to the cabin, he picked up a chipped coffee mug, cracked open the bottle of whiskey and filled the mug up halfway. On his way back outside, he pulled the sleeping bag off the bed.

Once he’d hung the lantern up and draped the sleeping bag over a chair, Eliot settled in, sipping whiskey and losing himself in the pages of an oft read book.

***

As the sun began to rise, Eliot set aside the paperback, stood and stretched. Stepping to the railing, he took a deep breath as he took in the early morning beauty of the valley below. 

The lake beckoned him like a siren, but he waited until the sun broke over the rim of the mountain. He extinguished the kerosene lantern and carried it and the sleeping bag inside, then made his bed. 

As he pulled his duffle bag out from under the bed, Eliot realized how cool he, and the morning, were, and added a long-sleeved shirt and flannel over his muscle shirt, as well as a skull cap. He grabbed two bottles of water, stuffing one in each back pocket of his jeans and cracking open a third, downing it in a couple of swallows. He estimated the lake to be about 3 miles away and knew he could easily make the hike.

***

Returning to the cabin three hours later, Eliot was starving. He remembered he hadn’t eaten much the night before as he cracked eggs into a bowl and chopped veggies to add to the skillet once it was heated up. The first thing he’d done upon his return was to light the fire his buddy Jim had left laid out in the wood stove. It had been a long time since Eliot had cooked on a wood stove, but he reasoned to himself, how badly could he fuck up scrambled eggs.

Sitting on the back porch with his plate, Eliot smiled to himself. The eggs had turned out pretty good, and he’d managed to only burn one corner of the toast over the open flame. He ate heartily, taking the time to savor the flavors of the vegetables he’d included: asparagus, onion, tomatoes, red peppers, zucchini, mushrooms, serrano peppers. Thinking ahead, he debated roasting the peppers first next time to add some smoke flavor. 

When he was done, he set the plate beside his chair and picked up a mug of tea. It was stronger than Sophie’s brew, but he was sure it was because he’d let it steep longer, but it was still full bodied and rich, set off with the heavy cream and sugar. While he would never prefer tea over coffee, he had developed a fondness for tea that went beyond the taste.

After his tea mug was empty, Eliot set about cleaning the kitchen. He heated water in large pots over the wood stove and did the dishes quickly. 

With all the household tasks completed, Eliot felt at loose ends. He still had a lot of pent-up energy after his hike. Spotting the wood stove, he checked the fire he’d used to cook breakfast and noticed it had burned down but wasn’t out completely. He closed the damper to extinguish the fire and looked at the box full of wood beside the door. 

Estimating how much wood he’d use during his stay, Eliot pictured the wood stacked outside. He didn’t want to use all the wood and leave his friend short, so Eliot grabbed the ax from the hook beside the back door. He ran his thumb across the blade, testing its sharpness, and found it ready to go.

When he’d turned the windmill on, Eliot had spotted a couple of downed trees, and when he walked back out there, he realized his friend Jim must have gathered them to cut later. 

Taking the ax in hand, Eliot lifted it high above his head and began chopping. The ax felt good in his hands and he quickly fell into a rhythm chopping the felled trees and then cutting manageable segments he could then split. 

Once he’d completed that part, he carried several armloads to the stump to split. He’d warmed up with all the effort and took off his flannel shirt and pulled his hair back in a low ponytail, then continued splitting the logs until he was finished. 

Sinking the ax blade into the tree stump, he took off his skull cap and tossed it on top of his discarded flannel shirt. He wiped sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt and then pulled it off. 

Thinking about hiking back to the lake to cool off, Eliot heard the whine of the windmill and looked up. He remembered growing up in the country and several places had windmills. The thought carried him to the water storage container, and with a little looking, he spotted the faucet but that wasn’t all. 

His buddy had connected the faucet to a hose and run it up about six feet and attached a shower head. Eliot turned the faucet on and two seconds later, water dripped from the shower head. He laughed out loud and stepped under the spray.

At first the coolness of the water was refreshing, but the longer he stood under the spray the more uncomfortable he became. He was frozen in place and realized he was holding his breath and forced himself to release it. 

“FUCK!” he yelled, but he didn’t move out from under the cold spray, enduring a few more minutes.

Stepping from under the spray, he twisted off the faucet and pushed his wet hair back from his face, and repeated the curse, “FUCK!”

He stalked inside, jerked open one of the ice chests and pulled out a bottle of water. Twisting off the top as he stepped onto the back porch, Eliot lifted the bottle to his lips but couldn’t bring himself to take a drink. 

Hurling the bottle, Eliot grunted with effort.

“Son of a bitch!” he yelled, both to release some frustration and because he now had to retrieve the plastic bottle.

Eliot stomped through the cabin and cussed under his breath as he made his way down the hill in the general direction he’d thrown the bottle. When he finally spotted it, he missed seeing a tree root and caught his left foot and tripped.

Stumbling, Eliot rolled his ankle and crashed into a bush, but caught himself from falling. He leaned against a tree and tested his ankle. It was apparent the ankle wasn’t broken, and as he moved it around, he figured it was a minor sprain. 

Walking tenderly, Eliot retrieved the water bottle and slowly made his way back to the cabin. He grabbed a beer and a sack of ice from the ice chest and carried them to the back porch. After pulling the second chair closer, he unlaced his hiking boot and pulled off his sock, propping his foot up on the chair and covering his ankle with the ice pack. 

Twisting off the cap of the beer, he took three long swallows before leaning back in the chair. Eliot hissed as his back touched the back of the chair.

“What the...”

Reaching behind his head, Eliot pulled off the muscle shirt and saw splotches of red around the left arm hole. 

Blood. 

He looked at his shoulder and saw several scratches on his bi- and triceps. Reaching over his shoulder, he felt wetness on his back and when he looked at his hand, he saw more blood.

Needing a better look, he pushed off the ice pack and limped into the cabin to grab his Dopp kit. He carried it back outside and pulled the small mirror out, then dropped the kit on the deck. 

He held the mirror awkwardly, trying to angle it to see where the bleeding was coming from. Finally, he saw that one of the places where the whip had broken the skin on his back had torn open. It had already stopped bleeding but there were smears around the wound. 

Pulling some antibiotic cream from his kit, he twisted and turned until he covered all the scratches and tears, before settling back in the chair and picking up his beer. His wounds would heal but, he reasoned, there would probably be scars. 

Draining his beer, Eliot set the bottle aside, and then lifted his left leg, resting his ankle on his opposite knee. He looked at his ankle and noticed it had swollen a bit, and that a purplish discoloration starting; he’d have to take it easy with the hiking for a couple of days. While his foot was there, he studied the sole.

Eliot had to admire the man Moreau had hired for the caning. Mr. Li had been a true master to inflict as much pain as he had without breaking the skin. It was nearly three days later and as Eliot probed the sole of his foot, he still found tender spots. 

As his thoughts drifted from the caning to the water boarding and the whipping, Eliot began to appreciate the lengths Moreau had gone to planning his revenge. Each round of torture could have killed him; caning of his vital organs, too much water for too long, the whip flaying him until he bled to death. No, Moreau hadn’t wanted him dead, he’d wanted Eliot off-kilter so he could get what he ultimately wanted: Eliot’s submission.

More than six years ago, Eliot had walked away because he had refused to submit to any more of Moreau’s sexual advances. But it had been more than that; he’d felt like he’d lost sight of who he was, that his own lines between right and wrong were blurred beyond any recognition. He knew the changes within himself had started long before coming to work for Moreau, and often, he had wondered if Moreau had seen the darkness inside him and exploited it for his own purposes. 

Moreau’s sexual advances had been the catalyst but meeting General Flores had been the reason. While surveilling the general, Eliot had realized that the things he’d been told to expect weren’t true, and that, in turn, forced him to reevaluate everything Moreau had ever told him. Once he had time and distance from Moreau’s influence, Eliot had been able to see things clearly. And that was what had made waking away possible.

***

“No! Fuck you! No! Stop! Leave me alone!”

Eliot jerked awake, panting hard in the dark cabin as the last remnants of the dream faded. He swung his legs off the side of the bed, but the sheet was twisted and he pulled at it roughly and heard it rip. Standing up, he pulled it from around him, wiping his sweaty forehead before tossing it back on the rumpled sleeping bag. 

Stepping onto the back porch, he took a deep, cleansing breath and leaned against the railing. 

“Dammit!”

Shaking his head, Eliot rationalized what happened. He’d agreed, hell, he’d even **asked** Moreau to do it. 

_It wasn’t..._ he shook his head again. _Moreau had... fucked me before, it was the same thing._

But even as he thought it, his stomach rolled. It wasn’t the same. It hadn’t been the same. 

_Say the word,_ he thought to himself. _Say it._

Pounding his fists on the railing, Eliot yelled into the darkness but the words wouldn’t come. 

He realized that deep down he was still fighting with the idea that he’d asked for it, that he’d submitted willingly.

“Willingly,” he said aloud, letting the word hang in the air as if he could dissect it.

He’d been given a choice.

_But what kind of choice had it really been?_

He’d known he could take the punishment; it was what he did. But when Moreau had threatened his team, his... family, all choice had been taken away. He would’ve died for them if it meant keeping them safe, and that had been Moreau’s leverage all along.

He took a shaky breath and said softly, “Rape. I was raped.”

***

Watching the sun come up for a second morning, Eliot felt a sense of peace fill him. He watched as the sun rose and lit up the valley and shimmered on the lake. The urge to make the hike was strong, but after an experimental flex of his ankle, he decided it needed a little more rest.

Instead, he dressed simply: a tee-shirt, gym pants and a hoodie along with his sneakers, and went out to the front of the cabin. The ground was level and cleared, and as he brought up his hands in the _Anjali_ (palm-to-palm) form chest high and pictured a meditation circle in front of him, he began to walk the _cankama_. 

On his first circuit, with every step, he released each blow of the cane, each second of water torture, and each strike of the whip. On the second, he came to terms with being raped. A final circuit where he focused on putting his feet in the same exact position, he cleared all thoughts from his head and felt a wave of calm flow through him. When he was done with the final circuit, he was surprised to find his cheeks damp with tears.

***

After a simple breakfast of scrambled eggs and a mug of tea, Eliot changed into jeans and hiking boots, and pulled his hair back.

He’d chopped the felled trees the day before, then split them into quarters, but they still needed to be stacked. Gathering the logs, he stacked them methodically, in the same fashion his buddy used. It wasn’t hard work, but it was tedious and required a lot of bending and stretching.

His ankle wasn’t giving him any problems, but occasionally, he felt a tender spot on the bottom of his foot. And there were moments when his back was stretched, and the lashed flesh pulled. 

When he was done, he took off his tee-shirt and let his hair down before stepping under the cold water from the shower head. He leaned his head back and let the water beat on his face, and when he stepped from under the flow, he shook his head, his hair flying everywhere, and he laughed out loud.

Grabbing a bottle of water on his way to the back porch, Eliot twisted off the lid and took a long swallow before sitting down in the familiar chair. As the water dried on his skin, he knew he was healing, and knew he’d go home again. 

***

Two days later, Eliot pulled up outside Parker’s warehouse. As he sat in his truck, he wondered if she was home; he hadn’t called or done any scouting prior. 

“You’re back!” Parker exclaimed, landing beside his truck.

He jumped out and looked up. “Where the fuck did you come from?”

“The roof, silly.” She looked at him with that quirky half smile and a tilt to her head.

He shook his head, hands on his hips.

“Come in,” she said, unhooking her harness from the rope.

Not waiting for him to follow, she started for the door. He grabbed Bunny and a bag from the truck and followed. 

Inside, he placed Bunny back in the over-stuffed easy chair, and when he turned, he saw a smile on her face before she looked away.

“Cereal?” she asked.

“Oh, hey,” he held up the plastic bag he’d brought in. “Why don’t you try this?”

She took the bag and pulled out a box of cereal.

“Whoa! I’ve never seen this before,” she said, tearing open the box and grabbing a handful. “Wanna try?” She mumbled between bites, holding out the box to him.

He obligingly took a few and tossed them in his mouth. They were super sweet but the pleased expression on Parker’s face made it worth it.

“Hardison’s at the brewpub today,” she told him.

He nodded but didn’t make a move to leave, instead he reached for the box of cereal and ate a few more.

***

“Oh, hey man,” Hardison said, looking up from his laptop, “you’re back.”

Hardison’s attention was drawn back to the laptop, so Eliot walked over to see what was so interesting. The hacker was playing a game, killing monsters or something.

“Gotta get to a save point,” Hardison supplied. “You see Parker?”

Eliot wasn’t irritated with the question because he understood where it came from.

“Yeah, just came from there.”

A few minutes later, Hardison pushed away from the desk and swung around to look at Eliot. 

“What’s up, man?”

Eliot held out a cellophane bag. “Found these.”

Hardison took the bag and read the packaging. _Gummy Lightening Bugs._

“So cool man. I’ve never seen these before.”

“The orange one’s supposed to taste like orange soda,” Eliot said with a shrug.

Hardison suppressed a grin and tore open the package. He popped an orange one in his mouth and held the bag out to Eliot, who took a green one.

The green tasted like heavily processed key lime pie, but he smiled appreciatively anyway. 

“Sophie’s at home today,” Hardison supplied. “Said something about cleaning out her closets.”

Eliot nodded and turned to head out.

“Oh, before you go,” Hardison said, “can you stop in the kitchen and check the grease traps?”

“Dammit Hardison!” Eliot said, but the comment lacked its usual exasperated bite. 

The hacker grinned as he watched Eliot leave.

***

“Ah!” Sophie said, opening the door. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

She let him in and then gestured down the hall. “This bloody shelf is giving me fits!”

He followed her down the hall and into her bedroom closet. Taking a moment to appreciate the vast number of shoes, he missed her comment.

“What?” he said, looking where she was pointing.

“I can’t get the thingy to fit into the other thing,” she said frustratingly.

She moved out of his way and he stepped closer, examining the contraption. He pulled a multitool from his pocket, selected one of the various tools and made a few adjustments. Once he was happy with the changes, he fit the shelf on the rack, and it slipped in perfectly.

“Huh,” she said, “just like that.”

He shrugged, folding the multitool and putting it back in his pocket.

“Well, I’m ready for a break. Want some tea?” she asked heading towards the kitchen.

“Oh, hey,” he said, retrieving a paper bag he’d set beside the front door. “Try this.”

She took the bag and pulled out a metal tin. Sliding open the lid, Sophie saw loose tea leaves and raised the tin to her nose.

“Oh,” she said, her expression excited. “Let’s try it.”

He sat at the kitchen counter and watched her go through the whole tea making process, and when she was done, she took a seat beside him. 

“Good flavor,” he said after taking a sip.

“It is,” she agreed, fiddling with the teacup.

“You remember when I left,” she reminisced. “I thought I’d lost something, a part of myself, but away from, well, from all of you, I felt more lost. I realized I’d found myself, my true self, when we started working together.”

He didn’t respond, but her words rang true.

“I think Nate went out to the boat today,” she supplied, taking a sip from the dainty teacup.

Rising, he put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. He knew he didn’t have to say anything, she’d already read him like a book.

***

Eliot stood beside his truck and studied Nate from a distance. He could see the older man sitting on deck, looking out over the water. 

Carrying a small duffle, Eliot slowly made his way down the pier. As he got closer, he saw a water bottle and discarded book beside Nate.

“Permission to come aboard?” Eliot asked.

Nate turned and saw Eliot.

“Oh hey,” he said, waving, “come aboard.” 

As he came aboard, Eliot saw Nate move his book aside.

“Sun Tzu?” Eliot asked, a little surprised.

“Oh, yeah.” Nate shrugged. “Well...”

“_He who knows when he can fight and when he cannot, will be victorious._” 

Nate inclined his head and gestured for Eliot to take a seat.

Eliot opened his duffle, pulled out a dark box, and held it out.

Giving Eliot a questioning look, Nate took the box and pulled the lid off.

“Wow!” 

The box held a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle Bourbon whiskey, 20 years.

“Found it in a little hole in the wall bar,” Eliot clarified.

Holding out he bottle, Nate said, “You open it, I’ll get the glasses.”

Nate returned a few minutes later and held out the glasses. Eliot poured two fingers of the amber liquid in each glass, then recapped the bottle and set it aside. 

They took their time with the fine bourbon, taking small sips and appreciating the smoky flavor.

“What’s going on Eliot?” Nate finally asked.

Eliot set his glass down and unbuttoned his shirt, he laid it across his lap and pulled the muscle shirt aside, revealing Moreau’s brand.

“Oh, ow,” Nate said.

Eliot watched Nate tilt his head in such a way that he knew Nate’s master mind had put all the pieces together.

“I need it gone,” Eliot said simply.

“Guess you’re not looking to get plastic surgery to remove that.”

It was a statement and not a question. 

Eliot reached into his bag and pulled out a blank seal and a kitchen torch.

“No, no,” Nate said, standing and stalking away from Eliot. “I won’t do it.”

“Then cut it off,” Eliot offered, setting side the tools and pulling a scalpel from the bag.

“What? You’re crazy!” Nate ran his hands through his hair, shaking his head.

“You’re the only one I trust to do it.”

Eliot’s simple statement stopped Nate in his tracks. 

“I, uh... well, we need...” Nate started, but stopped when he saw Eliot removing bandages, alcohol wipes and ointment from a med kit.

“This is gonna hurt,” Nate tried again to dissuade him.

“Not as much as it did goin’ on.”

The truthfulness of his comment couldn’t be argued with.

Nodding, Nate picked up his glass and finished it in a quick swallow, then poured another two fingers but set the glass back down. 

He watched Eliot sterilize the blank seal with an alcohol swab, then repeat the process on the brand on his left pec. He wanted to back out, find a new argument, anything except cause Eliot more pain, but the trust the younger man was putting in him, the fact that Eliot had even **asked** for help fortified him.

When Eliot lit the torch, Nate flinched, but Eliot continued heating the seal. He knew it wouldn’t have to be as hot as the original brand had been, it just needed to be hot enough to obscure the original brand.

“Okay,” Eliot said when it was almost hot enough. “You ready?”

Nate shook his head, a hand over his mouth.

“Get ready,” Eliot said and clicked off the kitchen torch.

Eliot held the seal out to Nate, and with a shaky hand, Nate took the handle.

“Now,” Eliot directed. “Do it now!”

Nodding his head, Nate said, “On three. One. Two.”

Before he said ‘three’, Nate pressed the hot seal against Eliot’s pec, covering the original brand perfectly.

Unsure how long to hold it there, Nate knew Eliot would stop him when it was right. He had to admire Eliot’s stoicism; he never flinched, never so much as changed his breathing, and only the clenching of his jaw revealed he was in pain. 

Eliot put his hand on Nate’s and then both pulled the seal away. The angry red skin was a perfect circle; there was no trace of the ‘M’.

Nate dropped down into his seat, a bit unsteady, and picked up his glass, downing the fine bourbon in a couple of swallows. He watched impassively as Eliot applied antibiotic ointment and a large square bandage. 

When he was done, Eliot put his shirt back on, and started putting things back in his bag. He picked up his glass and took a final sip before standing and stepping off the boat.

“What Moreau did to you,” Nate started but stopped until Eliot turned to face him. “You took all that to keep us safe.”

Nate’s statement didn’t require an answer, so Eliot didn’t provide one.

Eliot turned and started up the pier but heard Nate’s final comment.

“Hardison should have a job for us in a couple of days.”

Eliot raised his hand in acknowledgement but didn’t turn back. He knew as he walked to his truck that Nate’s eyes had never left his retreating back, and his eyes stung a bit at the thought.

After stowing his duffle bag, Eliot climbed into the truck and started it. He was going to go home, check on his garden and then pick up some groceries so he could cook dinner for his team.

They were, after all, his family.

**Author's Note:**

> It took longer than expected but I feel like I've given Eliot, and the whole team, as well as myself, the chance to heal from the damage I did. Hope it was enough.
> 
> The friend Eliot borrowed the cabin from, in my own head canon, is Jim Ellison from "Sentinel"... an old Army buddy... and maybe some day I'll explore that friendship. ;)


End file.
